


Brilliant, If Not A Little Mad

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: movie theater, Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock both work at a movie theater Mycroft pretty much owns. John works concessions while Sherlock runs the projector. With a boss like Anderson and a friend like John Sherlock is bound to get into trouble. </p><p>University AU: first year university. </p><p>Thought up by my other half, the wonderful yarnjunkie. Love you so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Back To Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



> Not beta-ed  
> Not britpicked  
> Leave suggestions  
> You guys rule

The smell was what concerned him at first. It smelled like fire. He really didn't need there to be a fire. It was his first week on the job, and if he had started a fire, inadvertently or not, he'd be sacked for sure. He sniffed around for a second before he found the offending machine. 

Just as he got close he heard a bang and a puff of black smoke came from it. He quickly opened it and scooped out all the popcorn that was turning black, scolding himself all the while for walking away to help the small boy with his candy bar. 

The second bang had him jumping backwards and looking frantically for his boss. The twenty something year old was probably out back smoking with his girlfriend Sally. They got away with a lot. There weren't any customers in the lobby, so he took his time trying to think up a plan. If he could fix it before anyone noticed he'd probably be fine. 

When another black puff of smoke came out as he was reaching in he smacked his hand on the hot metal plate on the bottom of the machine. It hurt like a bastard. And then the damn thing seemed to stop altogether. 

"Bloody hell," he shouted. 

A tall gangly boy with dark curly hair appeared out of nowhere and went behind the desk. He sifted through some papers and took out a paper clip and a biro. John stood back as he moved in front of the machine and pulled the face off. Inside the engine was grinding angrily. 

"Unplug it for me," the tall boy demanded. 

John did just that and watched as the paperclip was first jammed in one junction and the biro in another. The boy used a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket to twist back a metal rod, holding the paperclip sideways, and took the biro back out. He replaced the face and turned around. 

When he plugged it back in it started right up without the loud bangs or the puffs of smoke. The boy stuck the biro back on the desk and the lighter in his pocket. When he turned to look at John his face was unreadable. 

"How did you know how to fix it?" John asked.

The tall boy shrugged and wiped his hands on his trousers. "Took the last one apart for fun. Didn't get it working again, but that's only because I used some of the parts for another project. Tell anyone and I'll make sure you're fired." 

"No," John said, holding his hands up placatingly, "I wouldn't tell. That was brilliant!" 

The boy looked around and then locked eyes with John again, eyebrows furrowed as if he thought John was making fun of him. 

"You really think so?" He asked almost conspiratorially. 

"Absolutely! It was bloody genius!"

The boy smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That's not what most people say." 

"What do most people say?" John asked. 

"Get back to work," the boy said with a larger smile. 

Just as he did their boss, Anderson came in from the side door, girlfriend Sally trailing behind. 

"Get back to work, Sherlock. We're not paying you to flirt," He said rudely.   
"I wasn't flirting," the boy insisted, "I was fixing the popcorn machine!" 

"Bollocks," Anderson spit, "even I don't know how to fix that piece of rubbish!" 

"Well that's because you're an idiot. And it's not a piece of rubbish," the boy said snidely. 

Sally stepped forward quickly and got between the boy, Sherlock apparently, and Anderson. 

"If your brother didn't own this place you'd be gone. Run along, quasimodo," she said smugly. 

Sherlock frowned and left, stomping back down the hall and muttering. John stood surprised at the confrontation for a second before he spoke. 

"He really did fix the machine," He said. 

"Yeah, well, today he's fixing it and tomorrow he'll be sabotaging it. That's the thing about Sherlock, he's never up to any good," Sally replied, lip curling. 

"Mind your own business, keep your head down, and don't consort with the likes of Sherlock Holmes," Anderson snarled. 

John looked away and silently decided they could fuck right off. This Sherlock character was brilliant, if not a little mad, and he knew he'd be seeing him again soon, even if he had to wait after his shift in the parking lot where the employees smoked. John Watson didn't give up that easily.


	2. He Held It Tightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock meet again.
> 
> This chapter is sad. I'm sorry, Jess.

Later that week while taking the trash out John was kidnapped. Well, I say kidnapped, but it turned out to be less sinister and more idiotic. He'd emptied the bin and was walking back inside when a hand clamped over his mouth and a strong arm pulled him behind the building and into an alley. 

John struggled while he was dragged from view, but the person holding him was quite muscular though slender. Just as John got his feet on the ground the hand on his waist disappeared and he was let go. He spun around angrily, breath coming in huge puffs, to find the boy he'd met earlier that week. Sherlock Holmes. 

"Why in the bloody hell did you do that?" He demanded angrily. 

In Sherlock's defense, he did look surprised by the anger. 

"I wanted to talk to you." Sherlock said nervously. 

John took a deep breath, closing his eyes and mumbling to himself. Sherlock shifted from foot to foot. 

"Why didn’t you just say something like a normal person?" John asked. 

He knew it was a mistake as it was spilling from his mouth. He knew better than to use the word normal. His father used to ask Harry why she 'couldn't be normal' on a regular basis before she ran away. Maybe that was why he'd said it, to hurt the boy. It seemed to work. 

"Never mind." Sherlock huffed, turning to leave. 

"Wait! I'm sorry." John called after him. 

Sherlock stopped but didn't look back. It was the first time anyone had told him they were sorry without some kind of qualifier. 

"Why did you want to speak with me?" John asked. 

Sherlock's shoulders slumped and he turned slowly. 

"You're pre-med, right?" Sherlock asked. 

John, who had no idea how the boy had known, nodded reluctantly. He'd had friends in the past that tried to get him to see to their injuries instead of going to A&E. He was used to it. 

"There's something wrong with a dog that wanders around by the river. I think I know what it is, but I can't get a blood sample." Sherlock said. 

"I'm going into HUMAN medicine." John clarified. "And why don't you just bring it to the vet?" 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it were a stupid question. "They already saw him. Said they didn't know what was wrong. Said it was probably an underlying cancer. I know I can figure it out if I can get a blood sample. Will you help?" 

"I've never drawn blood before." John admitted. 

Sherlock's lips quirked. "There's a first time for everything, John." 

"No. I'm sorry, I can't." John said quietly. 

"I've got clean syringes and needles. I'll let you practice on me." Sherlock said desperately. 

"You'll let me learn how to draw blood by practicing on you? This is ridiculous. I've got to get back to work." John said walking out of the alley. 

"I lied!" Sherlock shouted. "It's not a stray. He's mine. He's my dog." 

John turned around at that to find the tall boy looking meekly at him. 

"They're going to put him down. Please. I just need some blood." Sherlock said faintly. 

John sighed. "I'm going to need quite a bit of practice." 

Sherlock smiled. "I have a feeling you'll be a quick learner." 

\-----

John was. After ten tries he was able to get blood quickly. Sherlock's arms were covered in pieces of tissue and the two were resting with their backs against the wall. 

John was at Sherlock's house. House wasn't a good word for it, actually, more like mansion. The Holmes family lived on a huge estate far enough away from the city to have actual wildlife. Sherlock had invited John over that night after work and they'd got right to it. 

He had all of the equipment required and John didn't ask how. The syringes were larger than you found on junkies, and everything was pristine, so John let it go. 

They were both sipping ice water when Sherlock's mother walked in. 

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, didn't know you had company." She said kindly. 

"We're busy." Sherlock replied. 

"I'm John." John replied at the same time. 

Mrs Holmes walked in and took John's hand. 

"So nice to have you, John. Sherlock never brings his friends home. I'll get out of your hair. Dinner at seven, Sherlock." Se said before leaving. 

John sat back against the wall and took another sip of water. 

"Your mum's nice." He said. 

"She's my mother. I have no way of knowing if she's nice or not. She bothers me quite a bit." Sherlock shrugged. 

"Well, she is. Should we get started?" John said. 

Sherlock nodded and set his glass down. They cleared off the floor and called Red Beard in. The gorgeous dog came into the room slowly and curled against Sherlock's leg. Sherlock lay on his side and held one of the dogs legs close while John extended the other. 

They'd watched about fifty canine blood draws over the last few days in preparation. Sherlock had hacked into the local university online library and got them everything they gave to first year vet techs. John thought he could pull it off. 

He swabbed the area and found the vein quickly. He pushed the needle below the skin and threaded the vein. He drew back and dark red blood slowly filled the syringe. When he had two cc's he took the needle out and held down on the vein so it would clot. 

Sherlock, who had been talking to the dog the whole time looked up at John as if he'd hung the stars himself. John felt his throat tighten. It was obvious how much Sherlock loved this dog. It was killing him. 

\-----

Two days later when John was walking to the bus stop Sherlock texted him. It was an address he'd never been to. 

COME NOW, IF CONVENIENT   
SH

Before John could reply he got another. 

IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY  
SH

John chuckled and texted back, letting Sherlock know he was on his way. 

\-----

Twenty minutes later John was standing outside an upscale veterinary hospital. His mouth was dry and he felt a bit weak. He took a deep breath and walked inside. Sherlock was waiting near the front and John went to join him. They didn't say anything to each other, just stood. 

When the veterinarian told Sherlock to come in John went with them. Red Beard was laying on the table with a catheter in his leg. The lights were low and John's heart was racing. The doctor said something about a sedative but John wasn't listening. 

John's entire attention was drawn to the singular sensation of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's hand, secretly, and quite desperately, gripping his. He knew Sherlock wouldn't be leaving with Red Beard that night. He knew what was going to happen next. He knew how devastated Sherlock would be, so he held it back. John 'I'm not gay' Watson held Sherlock 'I don't have friends' Holmes' hand. He held it tightly.


	3. Night Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn will make it all better. Love you, jess.

After that fateful day, watching Sherlock's best friend pass in front of them, the two boys were inseparable. They didn't make any speeches about friendship or talk about what they'd gone through, they were perfect British men. With the subject of love and loss swept under the rug they ran headlong into the kind of closeness people question. The kind of oneness that offends the general public. 

Three days later while on shift John was pulled aside by a tall man he didn't recognise. The man showed him into a back room and stood looming over him until John sat and clutched his hands in his lap submissively. 

"I hear you've been spending time with the Holmes boy." The man said tightly. 

John looked around before he spoke. "I've been seeing to my duties here. Don't see what my activities outside of work have to do with you. Who are you, by the way?" 

"I'm upper management. We've been watching you, Watson. I think you'd make a good manager, but you can't manage without knowing what Sherlock is up to. He happens to be of specific interest to me." The man said. 

"I don't know anything about what he does here, sir." John said truthfully.  
"And if I asked you to look into it?" The man asked. 

"I'm not a snitch." John hissed. 

"Noted." The man said. 

He walked to the door and opened it, holding it so John could walk out. 

"Being a manager would mean a raise." He said. 

John ignored him and went to clean the bathrooms. He was covered in disinfectant when the door to the stall he was working in slammed open. John looked up surprised to find Sherlock standing over him. 

"What did he offer you?" Sherlock asked agitatedly. 

"What did who offer me?" John retorted. 

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. John set down the toilet brush and pulled his gloves off. 

"A raise. Manager." John replied quietly. 

"So you'll be my boss?" Sherlock asked curiously. 

"I didn't take the promotion. I'm not going to spy on my best-I'm not going to spy on you." John said, blushing at the fact that Sherlock was his best friend, even after such a short time. 

Sherlock recovered from the shock of almost being called someone's best friend quite admirably and crossed his arms. 

"You should have taken the job." He said. 

"A simple thank you would've sufficed." John said with a small smile. 

"Finish up here, I have something to show you." Sherlock said. 

John flushed the toilet and grabbed his things. "I'm done." 

Sherlock smiled widely and they set off down the hall. John put the cleansers away and followed Sherlock to a hall he'd never been in upstairs. When they got to the last door Sherlock turned around. 

"Close your eyes." He said. 

John huffed a laugh but did just that. He heard the door being opened and then Sherlock's large hand took his and the taller boy led him into a room. The lights were turned off and just as John was about to ask him why they were standing in the dark Sherlock told him to open his eyes. 

The room was huge. The reason John knew the size of the room was due to the hundred or so glowing stars placed all over the ceiling, some reaching down the walls. He spun around slowly, taking note of the different sizes and the spacing. 

"The night sky."John said breathlessly. 

"You said you never get to see the stars anymore. Said I was taking them for granted." Sherlock said. 

"So you built me the bloody night sky? I thought you didn't know anything about constellations! Said they were boring! That's Orion's belt!" John exclaimed. 

"Didn't know anything. Decided to study up if you were going to keep harassing me." Sherlock replied confidently. 

After a few moments Sherlock spoke again. 

"So you like it?" He asked. 

By this time John's eyes had adjusted a bit. He wrapped Sherlock in a hug and held him tight. Sherlock went rigid and John drew back. 

"Sorry. It's just really nice, is all. No one's done something this nice for me in a long time. Thank you." John said, nervously running a hand through his hair. "It's beautiful." 

"You're beautiful." Sherlock said. 

This caught John by surprise. 

"What?" He asked, voice cracking. 

"Nothing." Sherlock said, taking a step back. 

John let it slide. Okay, that's not completely factual. John didn't reply. He did however, tuck it somewhere quite close to his heart (which was hammering loudly) for later contemplation. 

\-----

Four days later both Sherlock and John had a late shift. They got off at three and neither had anything to do. No classes the next day, no work. John had been spending the whole night getting up the courage to ask Sherlock over to his place. When they finally made it out of the building he took his chance. 

"I've got the new series of Top Gear on disk if you want to come back to mine." He said. 

"I've never seen it." Sherlock said. 

"It's settled then, just you, me and The Stig for the next few hours." John said triumphantly. 

Sherlock led him to his car and didn't tell him that he had no idea what a 'stig' even was. He would soon enough, it seemed. John hopped into the passenger seat of the old Mercedes and gave Sherlock directions. When they made it to the flat John's hand faltered on the door knob. 

"It's small. And messy." He said uncomfortably. 

"Can't be worse than my room." Sherlock replied. 

John laughed and opened the door. The flat wasn't messy at all by Sherlock's standards, and only a little by John's. It was of the type they rent as one bedrooms to poor college students but should really be called one rooms. Along the far left wall was a couch and John's bed. There was a large telly and an armchair facing the window. 

Sherlock plopped down on the sofa as John turned on a few lights and went to the kitchenette. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and a bag of crisps, then joined Sherlock. He passed a beer over and Sherlock opened it and took a sip. 

John felt like electricity was flowing through his veins. He wanted everything to be right. He wanted Sherlock to want to come back. He wanted so very badly not to make a fool of himself. 

"So." He said, reaching for the remote and turning on the telly. "This show is basically about cars. Can't believe you've never seen it before." 

Sherlock sat back and drank his beer while John explained the phenomenon known as The Stig and how things roll on the show. The whole time he was watching John instead of the screen. John noticed but didn't say anything. 

Four beers later and they were in the middle of a discussion about whether it was reasonable to keep The Stig's identity a secret when John spoke not only out of turn, but wholly off topic. 

"Do you really thing I'm beautiful?" He asked. 

Sherlock set down his beer and faced him fully. John felt his stomach clench as Sherlock's full attention dug into him. 

"Yes. Very much." Sherlock said calmly. 

"I think you're beautiful too." John said. "And amazing, and funny, and remarkable. You're bloody remarkable." 

Sherlock shot forth so quickly and with such unexpected force that John's bottle fell from his hand and hit the floor. One second Sherlock wasn't touching him at all and the next he was straddling his hips with both hands in John's short cropped hair. Their lips mashed together and John let Sherlock take what he needed. 

After a moment they had to break for breath and John smiled goofily. Sherlock returned the grin then kissed him again, this time running his tongue across John's bottom lip and begging for entrance. John opened his mouth and moaned as Sherlock pulled his hair while exploring him with his tongue. 

John whimpered when Sherlock pushed down and rubbed their groins together. He was already bloody hard and the pressure was teasingly wonderful. He reached down and undid his button and zip, pushing his hips up and removing his work trousers. His red briefs were distorted by his stiff cock. It pushed desperately at the soft cotton. 

Sherlock let go of John's hair and removed his own trousers, tossing them to the floor and getting back atop John. They kissed feverishly as Sherlock pulled them out of their pants and started stroking their erections together. John could barely think, as it was all moving so fast. 

Sherlock's cock was leaking enough precome that when he spread it along their shafts John had to grip the couch not to thrust up. Sherlock set a brutal pace, pumping them hard and twisting at the heads. He broke away and rested his face against John's shoulder. 

"Oh! Oh! John!" He panted. 

John gripped his arse and whispered to him. "That's it, Sherlock! Come for me, you brilliant bastard!" 

Sherlock tightened his grip minutely and kissed John's neck and they were both suddenly coming. Sherlock stroked them through their climaxes and then slumped against John. The older boy stroked his back and kissed his shoulder. 

"I think you've ruined my only clean work shirt." He said. 

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and John chuckled.


	4. Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded morning after goes better than expected.

After fumbling to remove their shirts John awkwardly suggested they move to the bed. Sherlock nodded and they crossed the small room and climbed in. John opened the window and a cool breeze snaked its way in. Sherlock pulled the covers up and lay nervously, not touching John but wanting to. 

"That was...I enjoyed that greatly." Sherlock said at length. 

John rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around him. Sherlock stiffened, but then relaxed against the bed. 

"I really like you." John said. 

Sherlock looked away and John started to retract his hand. Sherlock gripped it and pulled it back around him, moving onto his side so he didn't have to look John in the eye. 

"I've liked you since we met. Bit uncomfortable for me, to be honest. Haven't...this is all new." Sherlock admitted. 

John moved closer and kissed his shoulder. "I've never liked a bloke before. Never considered it. I'm trying not to freak out." 

Sherlock chuckled and moved closer. "I think I'd like to sleep, if that's okay." 

"Yeah, that would be nice." John replied. 

His heart was beating so fast he thought it would break free of his chest. He'd hoped that that night would entail at most a bit of groping. The fact that he had a warm and sleepy sherlock in his bed, falling asleep in his arms at that very moment, left him overjoyed. He smiled widely and fell asleep with the light breeze moving across his cheek. The light from the telly flickered on as they slept. 

\-----

The next morning John woke to the sound of the fire alarm and Sherlock trying to get smoke out through the window above his head. He hopped out of bed and took its batteries out before leaning against the wall and clutching his chest. Sherlock turned around and looked so worried that John instantly started laughing. 

"What are you doing?" He asked. 

"I thought I'd make you toast." Sherlock said, pouting a bit and looking down at the dark brick of burnt bread. 

"How about I handle the food from now on?" John asked with a smile. 

Sherlock walked to the sink and dropped the plate in. He looked crushed. John wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. 

"How on earth do you manage to stay alive?" He asked teasingly. 

"Don't care much for food." He said. "Slows the mental faculties. Makes me foggy." 

"Would you be amenable to a coffee? I know a place down the street."

"I've nothing to wear." Sherlock said, frowning down at his feet. 

"I'll let you borrow a shirt. Come on, let's take a shower." 

Sherlock followed John into the small bathroom and took off his pants. John removed his briefs, climbed into the tub and turned the water on. It got hot in an instant and Sherlock hopped in behind him. The warm water felt wonderful in the cold room and John sighed loudly and closed his eyes. He opened them when he heard a clunk to find Sherlock on his knees in front of him. 

"Oh, Christ!" He exclaimed as Sherlock reached up to cup his bollocks. 

The sight below him, as Sherlock stared, eyes transfixed to John's quickly hardening cock, took his breath away. He moaned loudly as Sherlock reached out and ran the back of two fingers up his shaft. Sherlock smiled goofily at the reaction and did it again, this time looking at John. 

"That's fucking lovely." John whimpered. 

"You're extremely sensitive, John. I wonder how much attention your cock could take before you climaxed." Sherlock said, wonder being the exact look on his face. 

If John wasn't so bloody keyed up he would have taken a moment to smile at the way Sherlock was watching his reactions. It was almost scientific. He didn't of course, because by that time Sherlock was rolling his bollocks in his warm palm and holding his prick gently. 

He gave it an experimental stroke and John grunted as a drop of precome welled up at the tip. Sherlock's eyes widened and he smiled as if it were the most exciting development. He leaned forward and tipped his head to the side, watching John's face as he stuck out the tip of his tongue and lapped at the head. John made a devine little 'oh' sound and let his head loll back. 

He gripped Sherlock's shoulders tightly as Sherlock dipped his head down again and took the tip between his lips. He pushed his tongue down against it and John groaned loudly. 

"Interesting. You like my tongue, yes?" Sherlock asked. 

"Y-yes. Very much." John said. 

Sherlock bent down again and stroked John's cock as he suckled gently on the head of his prick. 

"Oh Jesus! Sherlock, Sherlock pull off! I'm gonna come!" He shouted. 

Sherlock pulled away just in time and John came on his shoulder, Sherlock stroking him through it. When he was spent he crumpled against the tiles and glanced down at Sherlock with a look of pure awe.

Sherlock, who had become achingly hard as he was seeing to John, ran his hand over his shoulder and began wanking himself mercilessly. He closed his eyes and spread his knees. John slid to his knees and took Sherlock's face in his hands. He kissed him roughly, tongue a bit too eager for any finesse. Sherlock came across John's stomach with a grunt. 

John drew away with a smile and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. Sherlock smiled weakly and they stayed like that for a bit before trying to stand up. When they finally did John grabbed the soap and helped Sherlock clean himself. They both did their own hair and rinsed off. John turned the tap and hopped out, passing Sherlock a towel and taking one for himself. 

He let Sherlock use his toothbrush, razor and deodorant (which Sherlock initially turned his nose up at). He pulled out a t-shirt for himself and one for Sherlock. 

Sherlock picked it up and eyed John carefully. "You do realise that they spelled gorillas improperly." 

John laughed. "It's supposed to be with a 'z'. It's a band. How have you not heard of them?" 

"I only listen to classical, although I do appreciate a bit of Yann Tiersen every now and then." Sherlock said with a look that John would term snooty. 

"Alright, put the shirt on." John said. 

Sherlock acquiesced and also borrowed a sweatshirt. They slipped on pants and trousers, then made their way out into the cold morning and down the street. When they came to the café Sherlock insisted on getting the coffees so John sat at a small table outside. 

"Here you are. Got you a croissant as well. Sorry about the toast." Sherlock said. 

John smiled and took a bite of the pastry. They sat in silence for a long while before Sherlock spoke again. 

"I'm not really sure how this works. Are we automatically dating or does one of us have to ask?"

John chuckled. "I think one of us should ask." 

"Oh." Sherlock replied weakly. 

John rolled his eyes. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and John punched him in the arm. 

"No need to get mean, John." Sherlock teased. "The answer is yes." 

John smiled, relieved, and sat back in his chair. "Good."


	5. You Don't Have To Say Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and porn and stream of consciousness sentences.

On the walk back to John's flat Sherlock could think of little else than holding John's hand. He was incredibly nervous about it, which seemed counterintuitive as he'd had the man's cock between his lips earlier that day. He let his knuckles brush against John's and the feeling was euphoric. It spread a warmth through his abdomen that was surprisingly not to do with sexual arousal. Sherlock had never felt anything like it before. Well, he had, for a split second when John held his hand as...nevermind. 

John let their fingers twine together as they made it to his building. They walked up the stairs and made it into the flat before Sherlock was able to take proper hold. John looked around nervously for a second before settling onto the couch. Sherlock sat next to him and gripped his hand. 

"I feel warm." He whispered. 

John looked at him and ran a hand over his brow. "You don't feel warm to me. Do you think you're getting sick?" 

Sherlock swallowed audibly and shook his head, refusing to look John in the eye and playing with the hem of his shirt. "I feel warm...in my, um, well." 

John turned and cocked his head. "What's wrong?" 

"You make me feel like I'm going to throw up." Sherlock blurted out suddenly. 

John retracted his hand and looked at him in horror. 

"No!" Sherlock said, turning a bright shade of red all the way down to his collar. "It's a good kind of wanting to throw up. It's tension and warmth and the overwhelming urge for physical contact." 

He looked horribly uncomfortable with what he was saying and John relaxed and chuckled, squeezing Sherlock's knee. "You mean arousal?" 

Sherlock shook his head, impatient and upset with himself for not finding the right words. "I've felt arousal before. Not with other people, but when I, um, when I touch myself. This is different. I want to be a part of you. It's utterly ridiculous! What does that even mean? What am I even talking about?" 

John ran his hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and rubbed soothingly. It seemed to work as Sherlock grew quiet and slumped against the couch. His eyes drifted closed and he breathed out roughly. 

"I'm not good at this. I can tell you where you've been in the past five hours and what your neighbor is doing behind closed doors, but I can't tell you what I'm experiencing.  I've never been good at talking about my emotions, and it's even harder now because these ones are new. I honestly don't know what to say." Sherlock huffed. 

John kissed his forehead and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "You don't have to say anything, yeah? You don't have to." 

"But I want to! I want to say everything I'm feeling and pick it apart and learn my motives and quantify these impossible feelings because it can't be love because I haven't known you for very long, but every time I think of you leaving, even just the room I feel like I'm might die, and I don't want to just hold your hand, I want to crawl inside you and see what it's like there and just die! Just die inside you because you'll be sick of me soon and you'll leave and you're planing on joining the army and you'll go someplace far away and bleed out in the sand and the last thing you'll think is how you wish you weren't dying and I want be the last thing you think about, when you fall asleep, when you die I want you to think of me, and it's too much to ask and I can't breathe and I can't breathe and I can't breathe!" Sherlock spit out. 

His painful statement was becoming true as he started to hyperventilate and clutch at his chest. John was saying something to him and he didn't understand the words. The air around him was whooshing in his ears and it sounded like the ocean. He thought how he'd like to take John to the ocean at night. It was the last thought before things went black. 

\-----

When Sherlock regained consciousness a few seconds later John was taking his pulse and looking extremely worried. Sherlock blinked a few times, his brain rebooting and trying to remember where he was. His head hurt a bit. He thought absently that he wanted to wake up with John looking down on him for the rest of his life. Maybe not with such pain in his eyes, but still. 

"Jesus. You scared me." John whispered, running his thumb across a sharp cheekbone. 

Sherlock tried to sit up, but the pain in his head turned to dizziness and he lay back down. He was on the floor, he realised. Why was he on the floor? 

"Are you alright?" John asked. 

"Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be alright?" Sherlock asked. 

John could pinpoint the exact moment Sherlock realised what had happened by the color rushing to his cheeks and his eyes going wide. He sat up quickly and then tried to stand. John stopped him. 

"Don't try to get up. You were out for a good ten seconds. You need to rest." He said. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and cleared his throat. 

"Can I just die now?" He asked in a harsh whisper. 

"I love you too." John said. "Have since you held my hand when Redbeard passed. I was afraid to tell you. Didn't want to overwhelm that huge brain of yours." 

"Guess I managed that all on my own." Sherlock replied with a sad smile. 

"Look at me." John begged. 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at John with eyebrows knit. 

"I'm just as freaked out by this. You're the first bloke I've ever been attracted to. All I've been thinking about for the last few days is whether I've been gay this whole time and not known it or whether you just happen to be extraordinary."

"What's your conclusion?" Sherlock asked softly. 

John knelt again and cupped his jaw with one hand. He ducked in and pressed their lips together. 

"Extraordinary." He whispered. "Bloody extraordinary." 

Sherlock growled and pulled him down for a proper kiss, teeth and tongues and heat. John moaned against his lips and gripped his hair. 

"I want you to fuck me." Sherlock said. "I've never wanted to touch another human being and now all I want is to have you spill yourself inside me." 

John grunted and hissed against his skin. "Yes!" 

Sherlock scrambled to the bed, not caring any more that his head hurt, removing clothes the whole way. John pulled off his shirt, trousers and pants and hopped up after him. He pushed Sherlock down and straddled him, felling how hard he already was. Sherlock moaned as he leaned down to seal their mouths together. 

"Are you sure?" John asked once he had pulled away. 

"Please." Sherlock whimpered, and John was gone.

He wrenched the bedside drawer open and pulled out the lube. Sherlock pulled his pants off and tossed them to the side. His cock bobbed lazily, both belying and stating perfectly the amount of arousal running through his veins. John's breath caught and he remembered that not only had he never touched another man's cock before Sherlock, but he had no idea what the next step was. Sherlock fixed the problem with a shaky hand. 

"Let me." He purred, taking the bottle from John and slicking up his right hand. 

He let himself fuck up into his fist a few times before dribbling more lube onto his hand and reaching between his legs. He shuddered as his finger played at his entrance, rubbing in circles and pushing incessantly. 

"Jesus Christ." John hissed. 

"I like. I like to feel full." Sherlock mumbled, pushing the first finger in. "I like the stretch. I never thought I'd have anything but a bit of plastic in me." 

As he said it he opened his eyes and looked directly into John's. John let his hands rub up and down Sherlock's thighs. 

"What's it like to have sex, John?" Sherlock asked, eyes sliding closed and voice shaking. 

"It's. It's nice." John tried pathetically. "Hot. Um, it's hot for the person...penetrating." 

"Yes, and?" Sherlock asked, now pumping two fingers between his arsecheeks. 

"And it's better than masturbation. So much better." John added. 

Sherlock twisted his fingers and bucked his hips, lips forming a perfect 'o'. He added another finger and the only reason John wasn't desperately fisting his own cock was because he was gripping Sherlock's thighs. 

"I'm ready." Sherlock said, removing his fingers and wiping his hand on a discarded t-shirt. 

John nodded and grabbed a condom, slipping it on and covering his cock with lube. 

"I'm going to go slow." He said. "Let me know if it hurts." 

Sherlock nodded and spread his legs, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He didn't want to tell John that he'd had much bigger things up his arse than John's cock. His cock was gorgeous and full and he didn't want John to think he was lacking in any way. 

John held his prick still as he positioned it at Sherlock's arsehole. He looked up at Sherlock and then back down and held his breath as he pushed slowly in. He made a little whining sound in the back of his throat and gripped Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's hips and pulled him in, forcing him deeper until his pubic hair tickled Sherlock's bollocks. 

"Christ!" John cried. "You're so fucking tight! Are you sure it doesn't hurt?" 

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head, releasing his hold on John's hips slightly and moaning. 

"Please, John. Please move." Sherlock begged. 

John pulled out slowly, feeling his cock being dragged out of that tight ring of muscle. He pushed back in with a grunt and ran his hands up Sherlock's sides. He felt like he was going to be the one to pass out this time. Sherlock being Sherlock noticed immediately. 

"Let me get on top." He said. 

John made a little 'ha' noise and thrust his hips, then nodded and pulled all the way out. He sat back on his calves and squeezed the base of his cock to stave of his climax. He was bloody close. 

"How do you want me?" He asked. 

"Sit up." Sherlock said. "Against the headboard." 

John crawled over and did as he was told. Sherlock straddled him and held his cock still. 

"John. Just breathe." He whispered. 

Then it was happening. Sherlock was sinking down onto his cock and both their legs were shaking and that tight damp heat was eating John alive and little bits of light were dancing behind his eyelids and Sherlock was bending down to kiss him and he was so bloody gone. Sherlock licked between his lips and rolled his hips. 

"Oh, God! So full, so hot! God, your cock is so hot, John!" He moaned. 

John didn't have the strength to breathe, let alone talk, so he just nodded. 

Sherlock's thighs flexed and he pulled up and then sank back down. He did it again and again and his breaths were loud and his eyes were wild. John gripped his hips as he found a spot inside him, 'prostate' John thought dimly, and bucked wildly. 

"Oh! That's!" He yelled. 

John watched as he mimicked the movement and managed to hit the same spot again. Suddenly Sherlock was bouncing up and down with his hips bent forward and one hand splayed out on the bed behind him. He was like a wild horse trying to toss a rider and John felt that telltale tightness in his lower abdomen. 

"I think I'm going to come." He said, voice sounding weak to his own ears. 

"Just a bit, just a bit longer, John, just a bit longer." Sherlock cried. 

John thought about rubbish bins and the time he had to clean up vomit in the men's loo. He thought of the worst shepard's pie he ever had and soggy peas and he hummed to himself. Sherlock picked up the pace and his thighs must have been burning with the effort and he screamed John's name and his arsehole tightened and he shook and shot come all over John's chest and up his neck and onto his chin and John cried out and pushed up roughly and came harder than the night before, which was saying something because that was quite possibly the hardest he'd ever come, and he came and came and came and felt like he must be filling the condom to bursting and wondered what it would feel like to have Sherlock's come spilling out of his hole and down his thighs. 

Sherlock collapsed against John's chest and licked his own come from John's chin and John nearly cried when he whispered in his ear. 

"Oh, you were very good, John."

Instead of crying he laughed out loud and said, "How can you be so awkward talking about love and be so fantastic in bed?" 

Sherlock rolled his hips once more and sighed loudly. "I've been practicing." 

"Jesus!" John whimpered, hoping he'd get to see more of this confident side of the bloody bastard.


End file.
